Unwilling
by DoctorDoctor
Summary: "It all came down to this, this laughably easy final step before his quest was finally complete. Yet much to his disgust, when it came to this final duel he found himself hesitating." When Zuko is but a step from victory, why is his mind that which is most unwilling, lured away by a defiant distraction?


**Unwilling**

This was it.

The moment he had spent the past several weeks preparing for: the moment when he captured the Avatar and could return home, victorious and lauded as a hero, with that scrawny tattooed child in manacles.

This moment had to be perfectly executed, there could be no mistakes. No distractions. No mercy.

There were no others to defend the Avatar, his plan had worked perfectly: divide and capture. The Kyoshi Warrior and Water Tribe man-child had been lured away and defeated by a crack team of his warriors, the Earthbender child was a mile away, in the hold of his ship where she could do no harm, and that infernal massive air-bison was still causing trouble with its thrashing about, but two dozen komodos and chains prevented it from doing much more than that.

It all came down to this, this laughably easy final step before his quest was finally complete.

Yet much to his disgust, when it came to this final duel he found himself hesitating. He was pulling his punches, knowing full well that a well-landed blow could easily incinerate his opponent before she could summon a full shield to block his strike.

Her clothes were scorched and tattered, her arms scraped and her hair flying out of its braids, and there was a fire in her eyes that looked familiar, like the one in his own. Even now, she defied him, and stood over the unconscious form of the Avatar.

"You're not going to take him from me," she called out to him.

He narrowed his eyes and felt his nostrils flare, then drove his fist forward and launched a blast of fire toward her, which she deflected with a shield of water, more of it evaporating with each attack. He whipped fire toward her and watched her repel it with her ever dwindling supply of water.

"And what can you do to stop me?" he heard himself asking, in a tone that could have been playful if the situation had been different.

Her answer was to attack: she lashed out with the water, hardening it into an ice spear that hurtled toward his chest plate, but a strike with his blade shattered it. Having enough of the standoff, he took the offensive, calculating that as she weakened and ran out of water, she would be reduced to dodging most of his attacks in order to conserve her precious water. As he closed in, her attacks became smaller, then fewer, and finally ceased as she stumbled and fell to her knees.

Finally he stood before her, not three feet away, looking down at the exhausted girl wavering before him. She was a sad figure, bruised and disheveled, her head bowed. A strange feeling he couldn't quite recognize compelled him to take the next few steps to her, and stop before her.

"It was inevitable," he said softly.

"I have already won. If you willingly surrender the Avatar, I will let you and your friends go without further trouble–"

"Fuck you."

He felt the anger return, stronger than before, burning hot through him. What an ungrateful bitch, to reject his amnesty! Yet... the devotion in her, that resistance even as she was breaking, was something he recognized in himself, something he almost respected.

"Your choice, peasant."

Almost.

He grabbed her by her braid and dragged her upright, ignoring her yelps, until she met his stare, her eyes brimming with tears. Then he kissed her, roughly, bruising her lips with the unbridled passion he had been restraining for all the months he had been hunting, fighting, searching, waiting, churning without relief in his ceaseless quest.

Her struggles renewed viciously, she lashed out at him, fists beating his chest and trying to push him away until he pulled her hair further, drawing her head back to expose her throat to his hungry mouth. He bit down on the side of her neck, drawing a cry from her that was not only pain. He was riding a thrill, almost blinded by the haze of victorious lust, but not enough to ignore her attempts to summon one last attack against him.

"I wouldn't," he purred into her ear, wrenching her hand away from the lid of her canteen, before burning the strap and tossing the container it aside easily.

He drew her closer, smirking as he inhaled deeply into her hair, smelling the soot, sweat, and something floral that had been trailing his subconscious since that day he had found her chained to a tree by common pirates. He used his free hand to push her back to her knees, then shoved her onto her back and wrenched her arms above her head, ripped a strip of cloth from her outer skirt, and bound them.

"Not so fierce now, are you, peasant?"

Tears welled from her eyes as he trailed a finger leisurely up the outside of her leg, then slid his hands beneath her skirt to her thighs, drawing a sharp breath from her as she quaked with fear, anger, and unmistakable pleasure. When he ran his hands over her body, she couldn't help but arch to his touch and let out a soft cry when he sucked on the bottom of her ear. He stopped his ministrations, a salacious grin playing upon his face.

"Why peasant, I think you're enjoying this!" he quipped, then reached for the bindings of her pants, pulling them down roughly...

With a start Zuko snapped his eyes open.

Dark. Creaking, swaying dark. He was in his room, not a forest clearing, and he was alone.

He drew a ragged breath, uncomfortably aroused and disturbed by his subconscious. The idea of the very thing, with that peasant... disgusting. He screwed his eyes shut, but found himself unable to block the flood of erotic images his mind had conjured, the phantom feel of her warm skin and the flowery scent he hadn't smelled in weeks. Even more to his chagrin, in his dream he hadn't just exerted his power over her to make a point, he _wanted _her, actually desired to see her feel the same white hot desire as he did.

He rolled onto his side, disconcerted by the dream and the underlying connotations it held.

"Never," he resolved to himself. "That will never happen."

He closed his eyes, attempting to drift back to sleep, ignoring the part of his mind whispering otherwise.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Well hey there. I'm back after a six plus year hiatus. Miss me? (Didn't think so.) Don't expect extremely frequent updates or anything; I'm probably going to be using DoctorDoctor more frequently than ipocrita, and will likely continue on this account due to its seniority.


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